


Small Spaces

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Movie star!Jared, producer!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Jensen’s career hinges on convincing reclusive Hollywood megastar Jared Padalecki to come out of retirement for the new Kripke movie. He travels to Texas to find Jared, knowing that getting him to change his mind won’t be easy. But his plans are thrown into confusion when he actually meets Jared...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Small Spaces](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/340923) by becc_j. 



> Massive thanks to [becc_j](https://becc-j.livejournal.com/) for creating such wonderful and inspiring art and for being so great to work with! Check out the [art post](https://becc-j.livejournal.com/33813.html) and leave some love.
> 
> Thanks to my beta [Nisaki](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/) for being as super helpful as she always is. All remaining mistakes and stupidity my own.
> 
> And thanks to [wetsammywinchester](http://wetsammywinchester.tumblr.com/) for initially looking this over and encouraging me.

 

**Prologue**

 

“I won’t do it unless you get Padalecki.”

Jensen resists the urge to bury his head in his hands. Across the table, he can see Singer fail to resist.

“Eric,” Singer says placatingly, “Padalecki is retired. And reclusive. No one’s seen him for years. No one even knows where he is.” Singer is Jensen’s boss and one of the most important movie producers in the country - if anyone can get Kripke to be reasonable, it’s him.

“He was signed to your studio,” Kripke says, stubborn as always. “Find him, or the deal is off.”

The conference call abruptly ends. Singer looks across at him.

“Guess you’d better find Padalecki.”


	2. Chapter 2

The porsche bounces along the road, dust billowing around it. The fields on either side are a dull, muted yellow in the summer heat and the sun beaming down upon the car is so hot the air con is barely having any effect. Jensen shed his suit jacket a hundred miles back; now he wishes he’d packed a t-shirt, maybe even shorts, instead of the business attire he’d brought with him.

Theoretically, he’s near his destination, but there’s no sign of it appearing anywhere soon. Jensen is already far, far behind schedule; time lost between an unexpected detour outside Fort Worth, a slow-moving work crew near Graford and Jensen’s GPS giving up the ghost for an hour around Graham. He’s due back in Dallas tomorrow to catch a flight to LA - there’s no chance of that now. He’ll have to hope he can find a motel for the night.

Finally, he sees the sign for Megargel. He sighs with relief as he enters the tiny town. He’s cruised the entire length of the main street before he’s realised, passing the one store and, a block later, what appears to be the only bar. There’s no sign of a motel. The town itself is remarkably well kept; the buildings gleam with fresh paint and the children’s playground is modern and extensive, the happy shrieks of the children using it suggesting it more than meets their approval. Flowers are blooming above every doorway and the road has evened out to a smooth glide,

Unfortunately, the town is over before Jensen thinks to stop, and he’s back to dust and bumps. Before long, the road narrows down to one lane, and Jensen is forced to slow down, shielding his eyes from the sun as it gets worryingly close to the horizon line.

He cuts onto a small dirt track heading into the trees. After a few more minutes driving, he sees a hint of a clearing ahead of him, and after a final turn, he pulls up into a large, airy space surrounded by trees.

As the engine comes to a stop, Jensen can only stare around in wonder. There’s a small stream bubbling away to one side of the clearing, a deckchair laid out in front of it; and birds are swooping through the trees, unperturbed by the visitor. But Jensen’s eye is immediately drawn to the little house in front of him, perched on the edge of an incline overlooking rolling hills.

It’s carefully constructed and lovingly maintained; a tiny house nestled in amongst a vegetable garden. It hasn’t been moved for a long time; grass and vegetables wind their way through the spokes of the wheels, and what look like tomato plants are tacked to the outer walls. The paintwork gleams a cheery blue and the windows are wide open to the evening air, giving it an inviting appeal. Smoke burbles from the small chimney above, and once Jensen winds the window down, he can hear the faint sound of a pot boiling inside. 

It’s small, though, so small; and despite everything he’s heard, Jensen can’t believe it’s home to one of the most famous movie stars in the world.

***

Jensen’s arrival doesn’t go unnoticed for long. The door swings open to reveal a tall, lean man who cocks his hip against the doorway and stares at Jensen. Despite his years in Hollywood, he’d never met Padalecki, but even with the beard and the long hair, it’s clearly him.

He fumbles his way out of the car.

“Mr Padalecki,” he calls, his mother’s manners coming to mind and making him more formal. They are in Texas, after all. “My name is Jensen Ackles. I wondered if I could have a moment of your time?”

Padalecki’s eyes travel over Jensen, taking in his suit and tie, his dishevelled, sweaty hair and rosy face, before flicking to his car. He raises one expressive eyebrow, but doesn’t respond, and Jensen reddens more.

“I’m here on behalf of Wayward Films, specifically Robert Singer; and Eric Kripke. They want -”

“I’m sorry you’ve wasted your journey,” Padalecki interrupts, voice tight. “But the answer is no.”

With that, he turns and heads back into the little house, and shuts the door firmly behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not like Jensen had expected this to be easy. He’d come out here knowing he’d have a fight on his hands, but this is the movie that could make his career, which has been ticking along at a snail’s pace recently. 

He pauses, running his hand through his hair; and then decides on a course of action. Gathering his nerve, he strides towards the door.

“Mr Padalecki,” he says, knocking firmly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for your assistance before I make my way back to town for the night.”

There’s no response, so Jensen knocks again; he hadn’t gotten to where he was at Wayward through a lack of persistence. This time the door is pulled open - a little more forcefully than necessary, Jensen thinks.

“What?” Padalecki asks.

“I’m sorry to disturb you again. But could I fill up my water bottle before I head back into town? My journey was longer than expected and I’ve run out.” 

Padalecki closes his eyes, looking towards the sky in clear frustration; but it’s not a request he can refuse.

“Of course,” he says. “Round the back.”

He steps down so abruptly, Jensen almost stumbles backwards, stomping off around the side of the house. Jensen follows him carefully, stepping through the vegetable patch on the tiny path Padalecki takes. Padalecki’s long legs are almost outdistancing him through the small garden, and Jensen has to hurry to keep up. 

He notes other details about Padalecki as they walk. The man’s shoulders, while still broad and strong, are significantly less muscled than in his last Hollywood pictures; even so, his worn grey t-shirt stretches across them. He looks older too, of course; he’d been around 26 when he’d disappeared out of the spotlight, some six years ago. His hair is caught up in a bun but it looks long, and Jensen suspects that at 26, Padalecki wouldn’t have been able to grow the beard currently covering his face. He’s still gorgeous, though, despite all the changes, and Jensen is reassured he could still dominate the major blockbuster Kripke is planning.

As they round the corner of the little house, the view is even more stunning, the sweeping hills of Texas rolling into the distance, a lake glinting before the horizon line. Jensen takes a moment to admire it; he can’t imagine living like this, but such a beautiful view could get him a long way there. He’s more astonished to note a huge outdoor bathtub sitting by the edge; clearly Padalecki hasn’t given up all luxuries,

“Here,” Padalecki says, breaking his reverie. He’s gestured towards a rainbutt. “You can fill up here.”

Jensen, used to LA and the constant provision of bottled, purified water, is a bit taken aback. “Is it clean?” he asks.

Padalecki rolls his eyes. “Of course, I use it for everything. It’s a mix of rain and from the stream. Fill up.” He sounds impatient, wanting Jensen to leave.

Jensen dips his bottle into the water, which does look ridiculously clear. “Mr Padalecki,” he starts again. “I’ll be leaving in a second. But I really did want to say Eric Kripke has requested you especially. He’s not willing to make his movie without you - and he’s willing to pay whatever you want to secure your time.”

“Mr Ackles,” Padalecki says evenly. “I made more money by age 26 than any human being could ever reasonably spend, and clearly I’m not that materialistic of a person anyway. I have no need for further paychecks, I’m retired, and I have no intention of coming back to do a movie, not even for the great Eric Kripke.” He stares at Jensen, almost daring Jensen to argue, but Jensen knows a lost cause when he sees one, and he can’t help but wonder what made Padalecki so adamant about his decision.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “It would be a great movie. But if you’re happy here, Kripke will need to reconsider his choice of lead actor.” He means it, too; the contrast between the hustle and bustle of LA compared to Padalecki’s current home couldn’t be greater, and he can’t imagine how Padalecki would transition back to the chaos and pressure of the big city and one of the world’s biggest movie companies. 

Glancing around, he notes the sun is dipping behind the hills, glowing a wild, fiery orange. He can’t help but stop to take in the beauty of it. 

“You can see why I prefer it here,” Padalecki says, softly. It’s by far the nicest thing he’s said to Jensen so far. 

“I can,” he admits. “But unfortunately I have to leave, I’m due back in LA tomorrow. Could you recommend a motel for the night?”

Padalecki’s famous, multi-coloured eyes flick to Jensen’s face in alarm.

“There’s no motel,” he says. “Not for a long way. Couple of hours drive.”

“What?”

“Nothing. There’s no motel in the town, and by the time you drive to town in the dark, and then on, the nearest motel is a couple of hours away. We’ve no cause for visitors out here, really. I assumed you’d be staying with Mrs Mac?”

“Mrs Mac?” Jensen can’t help but repeat, panic seeping through his mind. 

“Mrs Mac lives in town, occasionally takes people in for a couple of nights if they need to stay near family. But not without notice… and actually, she’s visiting her family over in Archer City this week.” 

Alarm bells ring in Jensen’s mind. “How do I find the motel?” he asks.

“Not enormously easily,” Padalecki replies, silhouetted by the sun setting behind him. Jensen can’t help but note the tip-tilt of his famous nose.

“So?” he asks, wanting Padalecki to give him the information already.

“Urgh.” Padalecki sounds less formal than he has during their whole interaction. “You’re going to have to stay here. Why did you come so late?” He sounds like the bratty Hollywood diva Jensen’s heard whispers about down the years, who had always wanted everything his way.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jensen replies, voice terse. “I got lost on my way here. I’m quite happy to drive to the motel.”

“You’ll never find it,” Padalecki says. “And there’s never cell coverage here, you won’t even be able to message to say you made it safely.” He sounds genuinely distressed; Jensen has no idea if it’s because Jensen might not be able to find the motel or because he might have to spend the night in the little house. 

“I’ll drive,” Jensen insists.

“You will not. There’s nowhere to buy food now either.”

Jensen realises that as they’ve been arguing, the sun has sunk beneath the horizon, creating a twilight barely lit by the twinkling stars. Truth be told, he’s not looking forward to driving back along the track in the kind of pitch black night only found far away from the glare of cities.

“Fuck,” he says, eloquently.

“Fuck,” Padalecki repeats, succinctly. “Guess you better come inside.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen can’t help but look around with intense interest as he enters the house. It’s like something out of a fairytale, he thinks, looking at the wooden interior and bowed roof, the curtains tied neatly with ribbons and the bed half concealed by curtains at the end. Turning around, he notes a loft above him, mostly filled with organised boxes; and every scrap of space is carefully utilised to store the few possessions Padalecki needs for life out in the wild. There’s no electricity; a small stove sits to one side with a pot simmering on the hob; and there are a couple of lanterns and candles scattered around. Its real back-to-nature stuff, and again, Jensen wonders what had prompted the move.

Padalecki’s retirement and subsequent disappearance from the Hollywood scene had been the talk of the town six years ago. Jensen had heard many, many rumours; most so far-fetched he’s never believed them. The most predominant had of course been some kind of disgrace: drugs, sexual misconduct, abuse of power - all with supposed lawsuits attached. Jensen had struggled to find anyone who knew where Padalecki was, and of those few he had found, none would talk.

“He’s retired. Stop asking,” Mark Sheppard had told him shortly.

“He doesn’t want to be contacted. He’s happy now,” Sandy McCoy insisted. “Leave him be.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Stephen Amell had said, smug grin in place. “Jay’s done with Hollywood.”

It wasn’t until Jensen had found Chad Michael Murray that he’d had any luck, and only because he was drunk off his ass. “I miss Jpad,” Murray had slurred, morose. “No party like a Jpad party. You’re pretty. Maybe you can talk him into coming back.” Murray had leered at Jensen, making him uncomfortable, but he’d volunteered an address and vague directions.

“I’ve only got simple food, nothing fancy,” Padalecki says, breaking his reverie.

“Simple’s fine,” Jensen replies absently, still looking around. “This place is amazing. How does everything work?”

“Gas oven, canisters are connected out back, water from the rain tubs. I grow most of my own food, but I can go to town for other stuff.” He pauses, deciding on something. “Like beer. You want one?”

“God yes,” Jensen says, mouth already watering. Padalecki slants him a tiny grin, one famous dimple popping out, and reaches under the bed to a storage cupboard.

“Here,” he says, tossing Jensen a can and pulling out another. They pop them open, the silence immediately more comfortable.

“I miss this stuff so much,” Jensen volunteers, taking a deep draught from his bottle. “I can sometimes find Lonestar but never Shiner.”

“Another good reason to not go back,” Padalecki says, but he’s smiling, so Jensen understands it’s not a dig. “You ok with chilli and rice?”

“Is it spicy?”

“Blow your brains out.”

“That’s great, wouldn’t touch it otherwise.”

Padalecki snorts with laughter.

“How’d a Texas boy like you end up in Hollywood anyway?” he asks. It’s not hostile, but curious; Padalecki looks more relaxed now, as he stirs the chilli, than he has all evening.

“Right back at you,” Jensen replies, and Padalecki rolls his eyes again.

“Everyone knows my story,” he says. “Teen choice winner, plucked from cable tv obscurity to star in big loud movies. Boring, boring, boring.”

It’s true: Padalecki has one of those fairy tale success stories Hollywood glories in, the details so well known Jensen could recite them in his sleep.

“Fair,” he acknowledges. “But mine isn’t much more interesting. Went to LA at 18 to try to act, didn’t make it, narrowly avoided porn, found a production job and it went from there.”

“Well you’re certainly pretty enough that you could’ve acted.” Padalecki pauses a beat. “Or done porn.” There’s laughter in his voice, and if Jensen had known him longer, he wouldn’t have resisted the urge to pick up a nearby cushion and launch it at him.

“Well, pretty ain’t everything,” he drawls. “Turns out I’m better behind the camera.”

“Clearly, if you’re who Singer sent to find me.” The laughter is gone now, banished by the memory of why Jensen has invaded Padalecki’s privacy.

Padalecki tastes a spoonful of chilli and hums in satisfaction. “It’s ready,” he declares. “There’s a little table outside and the view is great. Shall we?”

Jensen follows him outside, to a nook near the bathtub. They’re looking out at the end of twilight, stars twinkling over the hills and the odd stray light from ranches and homesteads lighting the valleys. Padalecki lights a lamp and a citronella candle as he sets the table.

“This is delicious,” Jensen says, as he takes his first bite. “Don’t get this out west either.”

This time both dimples appear when Padalecki grins, and Jensen can’t help but be charmed by his million dollar smile.

Their dinner conversation is light, _“Do you keep up with the Cowboys?”_ and _“There any good local breweries round here?”_ and before Jensen realises, his stomach is full to bursting. They’ve downed a couple more beers, and Jensen feels mellow and at ease, despite the situation.

“I can see why you like it here,” he says, looking around again. “But don’t you get lonely?”

“Nah,” Padalecki replies, leaning back in his chair and stretching his shoulders. Jensen can’t help but admire the smooth muscles of his arms, which look like they come from hard work this time rather than hours in the gym.

“I’ve got friends in town,” Padalecki continues. “Don’t see them much, but I go in for a few beers occasionally. A couple of them come out here, sometimes - when they wanna get away from their partners. And sometimes a few of the local kids come out here to learn how to grow vegetables and stuff. I don’t need much company - after years in LA I value the quiet.”

Jensen understands. The silence here isn’t absolute; there’s a constant hum of insects and the faint breeze whistling through the trees; but it might as well be compared to the clamour of LA, where sirens blare all night and he can hear the traffic from his tenth storey apartment.

“Do you think you’ll ever move back to Texas?” Padalecki asks him.

“Now you sound like my mother,” Jensen replies, and they both laugh.

They chat for another couple hours or so, conversation flowing more easily than Jensen could ever have imagined. There’s not a hint of diva about Padalecki now, in the funny, straight-talking man Jensen has found here, and he files that reason for leaving Hollywood into the ‘No’ pile, alongside alcoholism.

When it gets to around 10pm, Jared tips his beer back and finishes off the bottle. “You’re gonna laugh at me,” he says, “But this is bedtime for me. I’ve got animals to feed bright and early.”

“Animals?” Jensen repeats stupidly, looking around.

“Yeah, chickens and a couple of cows in a field beyond the trees. Cows get real cross if you don’t milk them on time.”

Jensen can’t help but goggle at him. “If Hollywood could see you now,” he says, laughing.

They pack up, and Jensen remembers through his pleasant buzz that he’d only seen one bed. He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot as they head back into the house. Padalecki does the washing up with practiced efficiency at the tiny sink, and Jensen dries, trying not to think about it.

“Right,” Padalecki starts, ”I’m turning in. There’s an air mattress and a bedroll up on the loft, hop up. There’s a flashlight up there too in case you need to head outside to the toilet during the night.”

He must spot Jensen’s relieved face, because he smiles. “You didn’t think I was going to make you share with me, did you?” he asks, grinning; but Jensen can’t help but think it looks a little sad.

“Of course not,” he splutters in return.

“Well, it’s actually been a nice evening, Jensen,” Padalecki says, settling onto his own bed. “See you in the morning. Be warned: I wake up early.”

“Thanks, I’ve had a good time…” Jensen realises abruptly he’s never been given permission to use Padalecki’s given name.

“Jared,” Padalecki says, with that eye roll again. “Idiot.”

Jensen smiles. “Night, Jared.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jared wasn’t lying when he said he woke up early. Jensen’s barely conscious of Jared getting dressed and leaving the house in the rose light of early dawn; he takes one look at his watch and rolls back over, smashing his face back into the pillow.

It's much later when he wakes up again; this time smelling the enticing aroma of fresh coffee. It’s enough to have him sitting up, almost banging his head on the roof in his eagerness.

“Coffee?” he asks, brain to mouth filter not ready. 

“Not a morning person, I see.” Jared is laughing softly as he holds out a cup for Jensen, who grabs it and retreats back into the comfort of the loft. He can hear Jared moving about below him, making breakfast and tidying up; and it’s surprisingly nice compared to his big, empty apartment back in LA. The coffee is excellent, and he feels more alive as soon as he’s finished. 

He pops his head out of the loft, looking for more. “Breakfast?” Jared asks immediately. 

“Yes, please.”

They head back out to the little table outside. “This is really brunch for me,” Jared confides. “It's so late.”

“It’s 9am,” Jensen says indignantly. “Anything before this is uncivilised.” He pours more delicious coffee into his mouth. “But I must say, I could get used to the service here.”

It’s a simple compliment, but Jared flushes with pride. 

“I don’t have guests often. Guess I better treat them right when I do.”

Jensen luxuriates in his morning. He’s missed his flight already - he should have departed from Dallas at 10am so he’d have had to leave around 5am to have a hope of getting there on time, even without the risk of getting lost again. And while he’s due back at the studio, he’s also been told to do whatever it takes to seal the deal with Jared. He’s under no illusions that’s going to happen - but if he takes a couple of slow hours to be double sure, no one is ever going to know. 

So he sits back, enjoys his excellent coffee, tasty breakfast and the beautiful man opposite him. In the light of day, Jared’s appeal is clearer - there’s a luminosity to him that’s breathtaking - and Jensen is happy to soak it up.

“What are your plans for today?” Jared asks.

Jensen hums. “Rebook my flight, I guess. Head back to LA, tell them I’ve failed in my quest.”

“They’ll live,” Jared says shortly. “There’s always another new star.”

“Kripke was pretty set on you. So my next week, at least, will be spent consoling him and pointing out all those new stars who can take your place.”

“He’ll be fine.” There’s a pause. “You wanna come see the animals before you head off?”

“Why not?” Jensen grins; the truth is, he feels lighter than he has in weeks, maybe months.

***

He washes quickly in the tepid water of the bathtub; despite Jared’s assurances he’ll have privacy, he can’t help but be paranoid with all the open space around him. Drying off, he slips into jeans and a tshirt borrowed from Jared, and rolls up the cuffs so they hover around his ankles rather than dragging on the floor.

“Casual looks good on you,” Jared says, looking him up and down.

Jensen smiles; it’s been a couple of years, at least, since he wore jeans and he’d forgotten how good they feel.

“Lead the way, then,” he says.

It only takes a few moments for them to wend their way to Jared’s small farm, which is nestled in another clearing through the trees. Jensen hears the cows before he sees them, and he marvels at the security of the chicken coop.

“So this is what you do with your time?” he asks, still trying to understand.

“This, and grow my veggies and stuff.” At the look of incredulity Jensen shoots him, Jared continues. “I walk a lot. I enjoy my own company - I needed it, after.”

That’s a clear full stop, and Jensen chooses not to press. 

“Don’t you get bored?” he asks, but Jared shrugs.

“Lots to do.”

Jensen cocks his head to one side, still trying to understand. “So what would your plan be for today?” 

“Today, I was gonna drive into town, pick up some supplies; and then there’s weeding and planting to do in my garden.”

Jared does a quick check of the chicken coop again, searching for eggs as Jensen looks on in amusement. He murmurs to the chickens as he rustles about, and Jensen is enchanted with him; with the difference between this Jared, in his ratty jeans and sweat-slicked tshirt, and the star he’d heard about; and the difference between this Jared and every other slick, perfectly coiffed man he meets back home.

“Come on, let’s head back,” Jared says, when he’s found two eggs. “We can drive into town and you can try to rebook everything. See what your plans are.”

***

Jensen relaxes in the passenger seat of Jared’s truck as they bounce down the track. Jared is warm beside him, one arm propped casually on the windowsill as he easily navigates the curves. Jensen had wanted to drive himself, but Jared had convinced him otherwise. 

“What’s the point of bringing that car down this track more times than you have to?” he’d argued, and Jensen had to agree. The Porsche had not liked the road surface at all, and Jensen is dreading returning it to the hire agency. 

They soon roll up in front of the town bar. “You can sometimes get signal here,” Jared says. “And if not, they’ve got a phone.”

Jensen pokes at his phone, trying to load the airline website. “There’s no signal, it’s not working,” he says, prodding at it and waving the phone around.

“Oh,” Jared says, laughing gently. “Phone signal, not data. You’re not getting data anywhere around here.”

Jensen is aghast. “How do people live?” he asks, unable to keep the whine out of his voice, and Jared laughs again. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Going to stock up on beer.”

After ten minutes of fruitlessly trying to get a signal, Jensen has to venture into the bar and ask to use their phone. The sole bartender, an older man who looks like he’s never set foot outside the bar, watches with amusement as Jensen pleads with the polite lady on the other end of the phone, but she’s adamant. The earliest he can fly back out to LA is late the next evening; everything before is booked up. 

Jensen ponders his options. He could drive to Dallas now, find a hotel for the night and keep himself company. But he catches sight of Jared, walking back towards the truck with a case of beer on each shoulder, carrying them easily despite the weight; and the thought of a soulless hotel in Dallas pales in comparison to the thought of another night in the little house.

“Hey,” he says, hurrying to take one of the cases of beer from Jared. His arm dips alarmingly under the weight and he contemplates for a dizzy moment exactly how strong Jared actually is. 

“There’s no flight out until tomorrow night.”

“Shit,” Jared says. “What you gonna do?”

Jensen shifts from foot to foot. He doesn’t want to go to Dallas yet.

Jared looks at him for a long moment. “Hop back in the truck,” he says. “We’ve got plenty of beer for tonight, and I’m making ribs.”

Jensen’s mouth is already watering and he can’t keep the grin off of his face as he climbs back in.

“But there’s one condition,” Jared says. “You don’t spend the evening trying to sell this movie to me.” His voice is firm, and Jensen knows this is a deal-breaker.

“That’s fair,” he replies. “I’ll spend the evening pointing out why the Spurs are gonna crash and burn this season instead.”

The smack to the back of the head takes him by surprise, but it makes him laugh. At least until he’s settled into the passenger seat and contemplates when he last hung out and joked with someone like this. All his friends in LA are either far too pretentious to behave that way, or too busy snorting coke up their noses to take the time.

He’s missed it.

 


	6. Chapter 6

He and Jared spend the afternoon companionably weeding the small garden.

“You gotta work for your food,” Jared tells him sternly when he sees the look of horror on Jensen’s face. Jensen takes the rake and the secateurs, turning them about in his hands as he remembers doing this as a teenager in his parent’s garden.

He’s not sure, but thinks he hears Jared mutter, “It’ll do you good.”

It only takes an hour or so for blisters to develop on his hands, despite the gloves Jared lent him. Jensen looks at Jared, diligently planting new seeds, the muscles in his back rising and falling with even movements, and decides to suck up the pain.

***

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Jared exclaims, grabbing Jensen’s hands.

Jensen shrugs. In truth, he’s not sure.

“Idiot.” But Jared’s hands are soft on his, and he’s tugged over towards the little table. “Sit here.”

Jared bustles off, and Jensen is left staring at his hands. There’s angry red blisters, some filled with fluid and a couple burst, right across his hands. He’d finished the weeding though, and he feels an odd sense of pride. But he looks again, and makes a mental note to book a manicure for when he gets back; his nails look dreadful.

Jensen looks out across the rolling hills until Jared comes back with a gently-steaming bowl of water.

“Gonna sting,” Jared warns, as he pushes Jensen’s hands under the water. Jensen hisses, pain blossoming sharp through his skin. “Keep them there for a bit until they’re clean.”

It’s calming, sitting with his hands immersed in the water and unable to move. Jensen watches Jared move about, washing up and preparing their dinner. He can see Jared flitting about in the little house through the open window, and hear him humming in time with the swishing of a knife as he chops vegetables.

“Can I take them out now?” he calls, when he really, really needs to move.

“Yup,” Jared yells, “Let me just…” He comes out of the house with a clean towel, and Jensen smiles to see he’s changed into a clean t-shirt for their dinner.

Taking Jensen’s hands, Jared softly pats them dry, trying to use as little pressure as possible. Jensen is entranced by the gentle way Jared’s big hands turn his own this way and that, causing almost no pain despite the broken skin.

“I’m gonna put some vaseline on them,” Jared says, voice low as he examines the cuts. “Learnt the hard way to let blisters heal naturally. My hands are as hard as rock now.” He grins shyly at Jensen, waving one enormous paw. Jensen’s caught by the thought that Jared must have found everything so difficult when he started this new life; must have struggled daily with the differences between Hollywood and his little cabin, but he’d persevered anyway.

“Ok,” he replies, his own voice barely more than a whisper. Jared’s still holding his hands, stood so close their noses are almost touching; and the moment is stretching out as the sun sets behind them.

There’s a ping from inside the house as a timer goes off, and Jared drops Jensen’s hands, striding back towards the door. Jensen lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and sits back down with a thud.

***

The ribs are delicious, covered in a homemade barbeque sauce restaurants would spend hours trying to replicate. Jensen would be more than happy to attest to that, at length, to whoever asked; not least because he’s had several beers now and he’s feeling loquacious. And that’s a funny word, he thinks. Loquacious.

“Don’t normally do this,” Jared says, crooked grin firmly in place. “But I keep it for emergencies.” He stands and reaches up into one of the carefully hidden storage compartments in the little house and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Don’t have any shot glasses, we’ll have to guestimate.” He thumps back down next to Jensen.

“Guestimate,” Jensen repeats, laughing. “Let’s do it.”

They’re sprawled out on the back steps of the little house, shoulders and hips and legs touching because the space isn’t big enough for two fully grown men. They’d left the table hours ago, uncomfortable in the picnic chairs, and Jared had shown Jensen this spot had by far the best view of the valley below. Citronella candles glitter around the clearing, reflecting from the bathtub and creating the kind of soft light movie studios would die to create.

Jensen’s not sure but he thinks Jared is leaning into him more and more; the warmth of Jared against his side growing alongside the heat buzzing in his skin. Everything feels strung out and sweet, time idling as the sky purples.

Jared’s hands appear in front of his face, salt particles glistening on his tan skin. Jensen’s brain is struggling to keep up with what’s going on, but this bit he knows. His tongue darts out before he realises, licking up the granules until he gets to the real salt of Jared’s skin; and the bottle is held to his mouth, tequila burning down his throat. Jared holds it there for long enough Jensen splutters; he doesn’t really drink anymore, career having taken precedence over social life for a long time.

Jared pulls the bottle back, laughing loudly at Jensen’s appalled face; so Jensen takes advantage of his distraction to seize the bottle from him. “Your turn,” he demands, voice a little hoarse.

Still laughing, Jared licks across Jensen’s hand and sprinkles it with salt. Jensen’s heart catches in his throat at the sight of Jared’s pink tongue tickling across his skin.

“Ok, my turn,” Jared agrees. His tongue swipes out again, but Jared maintains eye contact this time, and Jensen is so lost that he barely remembers to lift the bottle.

“Open up.”

The lip of the bottom catches on the shine of Jared’s lip as he tips his head back, taking in way more tequila than Jensen thinks advisable. There’s a beat before Jared pushes the bottle away, wiping his hand across his mouth as he closes his eyes to get his bearings.

“Haven’t done this in such a long time,” Jared says softly, eyes back on Jensen; and the simple comment feels far more loaded than it should. Jensen can’t help but agree.

Nor can he help the way his hand drifts up, thumb brushing salt from the corner of Jared’s mouth. Jared’s mouth opens slightly, pulse speeding up as Jensen’s hand cups his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Long time since I’ve done this too,” Jensen says, before he leans in, mouth brushing over Jared’s. There’s a soft moment when it’s all lips; sweet and slow and delicious, but Jensen can’t help but want a taste of the salt, and beyond that, of Jared. He licks across Jared’s lips, and Jared opens for him with a sigh, pressing forwards and tangling their legs together until they are facing each other as much as possible on the cramped steps.

Jensen winds his hands into Jared’s hair, gripping tight and giving a little tug; and Jared moans, his hands fisting in Jensen’s borrowed t-shirt.

They kiss for what feels like an age, Jared’s hands burrowing under Jensen’s t-shirt and onto his sticky skin. Jensen keeps Jared’s head exactly where he wants it, tipping and tilting Jared’s face to get at his mouth, his throat, the warm space behind his ear, and down to his collarbones; noises spilling from Jared as soon as his mouth is free. Jared tugs insistently at Jensen’s top, and Jensen lets go of Jared’s hair to raise his arms and pull the cloth over his head, immediately doing the same to Jared.

Jared’s skin all but glows in the soft light, sweat trickling along his still-defined muscles. Jensen has to taste, and lowers his mouth to Jared’s chest, licking and biting around the muscle before scraping teeth across Jared’s nipple. Jared hisses like he’s been scalded, skin jumping under Jensen’s hands; and he stands so abruptly Jensen’s head spins. He pulls Jensen up roughly.

“Inside,” Jared urges, pushing Jensen through the doorway and gripping his belt as Jensen threatens to topple over. Jensen laughs, turning to wrap his arms around Jared’s neck, but Jared is not to be distracted; he takes advantage of his hands on Jensen’s belt to slide them around to the front and undo the buckle. He pushes Jensen’s borrowed jeans and boxers down in one go and Jensen steps out of them.

“Your turn,” Jensen says, eyes intent on Jared.

Jared’s eyes glitter with amusement in the low light, and he laughs, low and dark. Slowly, he places his hands on his own fly and undoes the buttons, one at a time; mouth tipped up in a cocky little grin and dimples showing. As Jensen’s eyes fix on his crotch, he gives a little shimmy, so his waistband drops the tiniest bit; and that’s it, it’s too much for Jensen to bear.

“Oh fuck this,” he growls, and strides forward, pulling Jared’s pants down roughly, and real, joyous laughter spills from Jared’s mouth. He spins Jared around, none too carefully; and Jared’s abrupt little moan is music to his ears. “On the bed,” he insists.

Jared stumbles across the room and collapses onto the bed, legs sprawled wide. Jensen takes a tiny moment to breathe him in, to wallow in his beauty, admiring his long legs and narrow waist, his defined chest and broad shoulders. Jared’s cock is hard against his stomach, a little wet at the tip, and Jensen feels his mouth water.

He crosses the room, collapsing to his knees harder than he’d anticipated. Jared’s raucous laugh is cut off when Jensen sucks him down in one go, no time for finesse in his urgency to get his mouth on Jared.

“Fuck,” Jared swears, long and low, and Jensen grins around his mouthful. He bobs his head, working out what Jared likes, until Jared’s hips are thrusting forwards minutely, his hands tangled in the bedsheet out of politeness.

It only takes a few seconds longer before Jared pushes him away.

“Want you to fuck me,” he demands, and Jensen is happy to agree. He stands, only a little more gracefully than he’d knelt, and climbs onto the bed, pushing Jared back. Settling over him, he presses his mouth back against Jared and nips down his neck.

“Wait, wait,” Jared pants, pushing on Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen forces himself to stop, wondering what could be wrong when Jared’s cock is twitching against his stomach.

“Just gotta find…” Jared slides out from under him and turns to one of the little cupboards built to the side of the bed, rummaging around. “Got it,” he crows, lying back down and pulling Jensen on top of him. “Thank fuck for that.”

Jensen can’t help but laugh. “Fuck yes,” he agrees, before his breath is stolen by yet another kiss.

He breaks away soon, though; dragging his mouth down Jared’s neck to his chest and biting across his stomach. Jared is shivering above him, and Jensen scrapes his teeth under Jared’s belly button again to hear the little whine it evokes.

He fumbles for the bottle as he does so, coating his fingers with far more lube than he could possibly need in his haste. Wrapping a hand around Jared’s cock for distraction, he runs the fingers of his other hand down between Jared’s cheeks. As he’s about to press in, tugging at his hair stops him. He looks up to see Jared staring down at him anxiously, cheeks flushed and lips bitten pink. Jared is so beautiful, Jensen is unable to form words for his question, so he cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrow.

“It’s just,” Jared pauses, the flush spreading deeper down his chest. “I haven’t done this for a really long time.”

They’ve laughed so much tonight, but now Jensen is overcome with tenderness; he rears up until he can touch his nose to Jared’s. “I’ll go slow, sweetheart,” he says, soft, and Jared settles back, eyelashes fluttering closed.

Jensen’s much more careful than he’d normally be as he opens Jared up; going from one finger to two fingers to three with aching slowness. He watches Jared as he does so, as Jared gets lost in pleasure, head tipped back and body moving restlessly. He pushes down his own arousal as he makes sure Jared is ready before each change, making note of each reaction and filing the images away in his mind for the future. By the time he’s ready to fuck Jared, the other man is trembling, his hips pushing up and broken little moans spilling from his mouth; and Jensen knows there will be fingerprints bruised down his shoulders from where Jared has gripped him too tight. He can’t wait to see them.

He rolls the condom on rapidly. “Ready?” he asks, and Jared’s frantic nod is more than enough to encourage him to push forwards slowly. Jared is still so tight, so Jensen bends to kiss him to distract them both.

He soon bottoms out, and Jared’s heels settle on his ass, trying to keep him there. “Good?” he asks, voice shot; and Jared nods an emphatic yes.

If Jensen had been asked what sex with Jared would be like when they’d started kissing, he’d have answered rough, playful, full of laughter; both of them tussling and rolling and enjoying themselves. But he’s caught now in Jared’s gaze, everything so intense he can barely move, afraid to break the spell.

They rock against each other slowly, never breaking eye contact, Jensen’s hands buried in Jared’s hair before he moves them so that their hands are clasped, their arms stretched out above them. It makes Jared’s back arch more, pressing their chests together, and Jensen can’t remember the last time he felt this close to anyone - certainly not during the parade of one night stands and friends-with-benefits arrangements he’s relied on over the past few years. Jared is gasping under him, whining as he tries to catch Jensen’s mouth. It’s clear Jared is close to coming, but Jensen can’t bear to let go of his hands.

“Can you come like this?” he whispers into Jared’s ear, scraping his teeth across the lobe; and Jared moans out a frantic yes. “Come on then,” Jensen insists, and Jared does, his back snapping up, the way his head tips back meaning they break eye contact for the first time in what feels like forever. Jensen can’t help but bite at his glistening throat, the way Jared clenches down around him and the minor pain of Jared’s heels digging into his back enough to tip him over the edge too, sparks exploding behind his eyes and shivers trembling down his spine.

It takes a long moment for him to come back to himself, but when he does, he removes the condom and wipes them both down with a corner of the sheet. He’s about to get up to dispose of the condom when Jared’s arms and legs wrap around his.

“Stay,” Jared mumbles, and Jensen doesn’t argue. Tossing the condom away, he pulls Jared close to him, taking the opportunity to kiss his shoulder, his temple, his throat. With Jared’s warmth settled next to him, he’s asleep within seconds.


	7. Chapter 7

Jensen wakes up confused, blue curtains obscuring his view of the world. He’s tangled around Jared, his face pressed into Jared’s nape and his arm across Jared’s chest. The world is warm, and cosy, and quiet; and Jensen can’t help but contrast it to the cold chrome of his apartment, with its blaring traffic outside at all hours and the wide, empty, pristine bed.

Jared’s still fast asleep, so Jensen takes the opportunity to take stock, trying to force his mind around the fact he slept with one of the world’s biggest movie stars, a man his studio was pursuing to appear in the next blockbuster, rather than the fact he’s curled up against Jared, who keeps cows and chickens in a field and lives in a little house with an outside bathtub.

_Shit,_ he thinks, _the cows._

“Jared,” he mutters, “Jared!” When that doesn’t work, he resorts to shaking Jared’s shoulder, and Jared mumbles pitifully as he comes awake.

“Wha..?” he asks.

“Your cows,” Jensen explains, and Jared groans before sitting up in bed.

“Fucking cows,” he mutters. He pulls on a pair of jeans over his bare ass, so quick Jensen barely has a second to admire the view before he’s gone.

Jensen flops back on the pillow, fully awake and fully pissed off about it.

He idles in bed until Jared comes back, which takes far longer than Jensen thinks it should. He can’t blame Jared though; he can only imagine the turmoil he’s wreaked in Jared’s quiet, peaceful life.

When Jared does come back, he pops his head around the door, peeping to see if Jensen is awake. He laughs a little shyly when he finds Jensen looking at him.

“I thought you’d still be asleep, like yesterday.” His cheeks are flushed pink and bashful, and he can’t meet Jensen’s eyes. Its adorable. 

“Just waiting for my coffee service.”

Jared snorts but joking aside, Jensen felt obliged to wait; he has no idea where the coffee lives and didn’t want to go poking through the privacy of Jared’s many cupboards to find it.

Jared’s still got a shy little smile when he hands Jensen his coffee a few minutes later, although Jensen notices Jared’s eyes have drifted southwards to Jensen’s bare chest where he’s still sitting propped up in bed. Armed with reassurance Jared still wants him, Jensen sets his coffee by the side of the bed and pulls Jared in for a small, sweet kiss. When he lets go again, he’s pleased to see Jared is beaming.

They settle in the bed, pressed together again in the small space, and sip their coffee. 

“Are you going to head back to LA today?” Jared asks eventually. 

Jensen hums. “I guess so.” For the first time in years, he doesn’t want to.

“Do you really like it there?” 

Jensen hums again, mainly to buy some time to think. Before he came out here the answer would have been a resounding yes; LA is where he’s built his career, where he’s always seen his future. But the last couple of days have reminded him what it’s like to spend time with someone whose company he actually enjoys, something he hadn’t realised he’s been missing. 

Jared doesn’t press him for an answer, and Jensen realises how much he likes the lack of pressure.

“I’ve built a good life for myself there,” he says. “But LA is LA. You know how it is.”

This time it’s Jared’s turn to nod in wordless agreement, his free hand tangling with Jensen’s. They’re wrapped together so tightly now, the warm skin of Jared’s sides pressed against his own, Jensen doesn’t want to leave.

Instead of focusing on that, he gathers his courage. “Can I ask you a question?” he says. “You absolutely don’t have to answer.”

He can see the child in Jared resisting the urge to point out Jensen had already asked a question. 

“Sure,” he says, voice quiet; and Jensen realises Jared can probably guess what’s coming.

“Why?” he asks simply. “Why did you leave? Why this?”

Jared sighs, burying his head in Jensen’s neck a little so that his face is hidden.

“This,” he replies. “I was hiding so much, and I hated it.”

It takes Jensen a moment to process what Jared means, but his heart sinks. He knows what happens in Hollywood, of course he does, although he’s never been a part of it; but there’s a big difference between knowing it happens and being faced with the trembling reality of it in his arms. He doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for putting his coffee down and burying his hands in Jared’s hair, petting gently. 

“I hated it,” Jared repeats, “But I did bits of it, here and there. Little things; taking a girl to a premier, the odd date picture, you know the drill. But when I was nominated for the Oscar, things got intense. Some big blockbuster movies wanted me to join franchises, and they wanted an image.”

Jared appears to be on a roll now, almost as if he’s never talked about this before, and Jensen doesn’t want to stop him talking, even if it’s to express sympathy or ask questions.

“They wanted me to do more. To have a permanent ‘girlfriend’, maybe get married, and do loads of press. The kind of stuff that would mean no one would think I was gay. And my team were so in favour of it, my manager, my PR person, they all loved the idea. It made me realise how much they were in it for their own benefit, because they knew it would make me miserable.”

Jensen almost shivers with relief that Jared hadn’t gone down that path, because the Jared he’s come to know over the last couple of days, the cheerful, open man with the booming laugh would have withered under such pressure.

“So I said no.” Jared’s voice is musing now. “I honoured the last committments I had but didn’t make any more, told my manager I wanted to take a short break; and when I’d finished everything I told him I was done. Someone I knew from home was selling this place, so I drove it until I found somewhere I liked, somewhere I could see myself living for a little bit. And here I am.”

Jared deflates when he’s finished, almost as if he’s waiting for Jensen to pass judgement on him. But Jensen has no intention of doing any such thing; his heart is pounding with empathy and his arms have tightened protectively around Jared. While he can’t say he understands the decision to move out here and isolate himself so completely, he does understand why Jared walked away from his old life. He also knows how lucky he’s been; on his side of the camera, his sexuality hasn’t mattered.

“That’s shit,” he says. “I’m sorry.” The words may be simple, but he knows Jared can hear the sincerity behind them; and there’s nothing more to say.

They sit in silence for a long time, Jensen wrapped around Jared. Jensen is overwhelmed with contentment; his body lax and his mind pleasantly slow despite Jared’s revelations; the only interruptions the sound of the birds outside and the occasional buzzing of insects. 

***

The sun has climbed high in the sky before Jensen moves. His flight is late evening, and he’d calculated yesterday that he needed to be on the road mid-afternoon to be sure of making it. He can’t afford to miss another flight - he’s already missed too much time in the office, no matter how much he’d rather stay with Jared.

Their parting is bittersweet and awkward. Jensen knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Jared lived in LA he’d be making plans for them to meet up again - but with Jared out here in the middle of nowhere, what future could they have? And there’s the ever-present elephant in the room to consider as well - Jensen’s failed quest to get Jared to act in the next big Eric Kripke movie.

He hugs Jared goodbye in the doorway of the little house, the blue curtains fluttering in the corner of his eye; and thinks, _fuck it,_ and pulls Jared in for a swift kiss. Jared looks a little dazed when Jensen pulls back, but he gathers himself enough to cup Jensen’s face gently and press their foreheads together, his eyes closed. It’s far more intense than the kiss, and Jensen feels his heart pound and his mouth dry out, his hands tightening on Jared’s wrists. But he pulls away again, picking up his small bag and heading over to the Porsche. 

His last glance back shows Jared leaning in the doorway, shading his eyes as he watches the car disappear. Swallowing hard, Jensen ignores the aching in his chest as the car bumps down the track and around the first corner.


	8. Chapter 8

The journey feels interminable. He’d left so much extra time he makes it to the airport far too early, and he’s marooned in the domestic terminal with little amusement. His mind flashes again and again over everything that had happened over the past few days: Jared laughing as he cooked chilli; the easy way Jared had teased him, as if they’d been friends forever; Jared’s heartbreaking story this morning; and above all, the way Jared had looked under him, the way he’d felt as Jensen had touched him, the way he’d thrown his head back in abandon. He tries every method of distraction he knows, but nothing works, and by the time he boards the plane he feels like screaming. 

When he lands, LA is as loud as ever. He fights his way to a taxi and by the time it pulls up outside his apartment block, he’s more than ready to be at home.

Except as he walks into his apartment, taking in the white walls, uncomfortable modern furniture and lack of clutter, it doesn’t feel like home. It never has, Jensen realises; it’s always been a place where he spends his time between work and networking; a place to lay his head down and recharge his batteries. There’s no visitor in the world who could confidently state this was Jensen’s apartment, because there’s nothing of his personality visible in it. He can’t help but compare it with the warmth of Jared’s tiny house; where although everything was neatly stored away in the myriad ingenious storage spaces, the small space contained so much of Jared’s vibrant personality.

Deflated, Jensen dumps his bag on the floor and heads straight to the bed, not stopping to brush his teeth. He sprawls flat out on boring white sheets and hopes his exhaustion means sleep will come swiftly. 

He’s wrong.

***

He’s up and on his way to the office first thing the next morning, despite his late arrival and sleepless night. A quick shower is the best he can do to refresh himself; followed by three cups of coffee before he walks through the revolving door into his building.

He’s early, so he settles into the ergonomic chair in his office to go through his hundreds of emails before the shit hits the fan when Singer arrives. He’s not looking forward to that. 

Most of his emails are utter bullshit, he realises. His inbox is filled with requests for favours; pedantic quibbling over unimportant details, and shallow attempts to build relationships based on mutual gain rather than actual interest. For the first time in a long time Jensen is dissatisfied, and he can’t help thinking back to Jared’s revelations. While there is nothing overtly like that in his emails, he can’t help but wonder how many deals of that nature he’s inadvertently facilitating through his work. It makes him feel physically sick, however much he tries to attribute the feeling to too much coffee on an empty stomach. 

Singer strides in at about 9am, looking much more chipper than Jensen feels. Jensen’s heart sinks, knowing he’s going to be the one who ends his boss’ good mood; but there’s no way of avoiding it. He gives Singer a few minutes to get his computer booted up, before gathering his courage and heads down the hallway to the corner office.

“Jensen,” Singer booms as he enters. “Glad to see you back.” Singer’s smile is expectant, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes. About that.” Taking one final deep breath, Jensen says, “There’s no way we’re getting Padalecki. His mind is set; he won’t be coming back and he won’t change his mind either. Kripke will have to settle for someone else.”

Jensen’s been a senior figure in his studio for years now, and it’s been a long time since he was this nervous to impart news - a feeling which turns out to be justified.

“What?” Singer demands. “What?” His face turns a much deeper shade of red than normal. “Why the hell are you back? You were told to do whatever it took to seal this deal.” 

“There is no deal to be sealed,” Jensen states, voice far firmer than he feels. “There are no further discussions to be had. Padalecki was crystal clear. There is no coming back.”

“You should have stayed,” Singer thunders. “What did you offer him? You should have offered more.”

“With all due respect, Padalecki has, in his own words, more money than he knows what to do with, and has no other wants. We have no leverage, and he is determined. There is no deal to make.”

Bob’s chest expands, and Jensen braces himself for more. 

The argument continues at top volume for at least another twenty minutes, Bob insistently demanding Jensen try again, offer more; and Jensen stubbornly reiterating there is no point. It’s by far the most difficult conversation of his career, but it feels like the least he can do for Jared.

Or rather, it’s the least difficult conversation of his career until they tell Kripke. Luckily, they contact him via video phone, because Kripke’s epic tantrum results in a number of breakages in his office, as well as coffee splattered all over the video screen. Jensen is persistent though, and eventually Kripke calms down enough for Jensen and Singer to pitch the list of alternative actors they had discussed in haste once Singer had accepted Jared’s absence. 

By the end of the day, Jensen is utterly drained. He’s barely aware of his surroundings as he drives home, his mind fixed on chilli and barbequed ribs to the extent that his mouth is watering. But he opens the door to the same soulless apartment as the night before, the vast space empty of both good food and good company; and for the second time, he collapses on his bed as soon as he’s kicked off his shoes. 


	9. Chapter 9

**4 weeks later.**

Jensen pauses outside the door, bracing himself for what’s ahead. It’s the first big meeting between Kripke and Milo Ventimiglia, the actor they had found to take Jared’s role in Kripke’s new film.

Kripke remains unhappy - Ventimiglia is not the right body type for the part, he insists; he won’t be able to convey the instinctive air of physical authority needed for the role. He doesn’t have the charm Jared oozes without trying (Jensen would agree with that, Milo is pleasant, but he’s not Jared) and he doesn’t have the star power Kripke was looking for. But he’s what they’ve got, as Jensen and Singer keep reminding Eric, so it’s important the director and his lead actor get along.

Jensen steps into the room and sets up, placing the coffees he’d brought with him in strategic places around the room. He fusses with the sofas a little, wanting Kripke and Ventimiglia sitting close but not so close they feel uncomfortable, and forces himself to stop pacing and sit down. A lot hinges on this meeting.

Singer is the first to arrive, and the small frown line above his botoxed eyes is enough for Jensen to understand how worried he is. Ventimiglia is next. Jensen can’t help but compare him to Jared and find him wanting, no matter how much he tries to keep an open mind.

Kripke bowls into the room fifteen minutes later, when Ventimiglia is already tapping his feet in annoyance. For such a small man, Kripke is larger than life, and exudes an aura of power and influence Jensen has never managed to pin down. 

With such an inauspicious start, Jensen is hardly surprised the meeting does not go well. Kripke and Ventimiglia do not click; in fact, they appear to have such opposing personalities that Jensen catches Singer’s eye half way through the meeting and sees the realisation reflected back at him that they will be searching for a new leading actor after the meeting finishes.

What does surprise Jensen is how little he cares. This movie is supposed to be the one to make his career as a producer; it’s billed as one of the biggest directors in the world connecting with one of the most sought-after actors to make a groundbreaking movie that will win awards galore. The reality is, Jensen finds the plot trite, and if he’s brutally honest, Kripke’s directing can be as dramatic as the man; but he could put that aside. More worrying is the way his mind refuses to focus on any attempt to salvage the meeting; all he can think of is how empty his life is, and how much better his day would be if it were Jared sitting in front of him rather than Milo. 

“And I’ll want a bowl of fresh skittles in my trailer every day - but just the purple and red ones,” he catches Milo demand through his distraction. It’s all he can do to hold in his groan; the full weight crashes down upon him of how shallow his life is and how little he actually cares about what he does. He’s been so focused on achieving success he hadn’t realised the lack of anything else in his life. 

He thinks back to all the stories he’d heard about Jared being a diva and compares them to the evidence in front of him (Milo is now demanding a specific brand of bottled water to be served exclusively on set). It doesn’t make sense; he can’t imagine warm, funny Jared, ever fitting into this world. 

While he himself might fit right in, given he’s built his life around this world, for the first time he finds that thought abhorrent. Everything he’s been feeling over the past month flashes before him - his annoyance with his colleagues, his disdain for their creative output, and most importantly, his utter loneliness and the lack of warmth in his life. His vision swims for a moment, and his stomach lurches, before everything rights itself. 

He stands up abruptly. “I’ve got to go. Sorry.”

He doesn’t even stop to grab his jacket as he leaves, three astonished faces watching as he storms out of the room.

***

The road is as bumpy as he remembers, but this time his car is much more suited to the terrain. The old red truck rattles along happily, the lack of aircon meaning the windows are wound down and letting in the muggy, thick air. 

Jensen rounds the final corner and the little house comes into view. He pulls the truck up sharply and kills the engine, wanting to soak in the view before he approaches. It’s so neat and well-kept, the paintwork pristine and the windows sparkling. The only difference is the vegetables he’d helped plant a month ago have sprouted, little green tips poking their way through the earth. 

There’s no movement in the house despite the loud arrival of the truck, and glancing at his watch, Jensen realises he must have arrived during feeding time. The thought makes him fidgety; in all his daydreams, he’d never imagined he’d arrive and Jared wouldn’t be here. 

Hopping out of the car, he moves slowly towards the house. As he’d expected, the front door is open, but he can’t bring himself to invade Jared’s hard-won privacy by going inside; instead he heads around to the back of the house, treading carefully between the vegetables. 

He perches on the back steps where so much had happened to change his life. Despite the amazing view of the valley laid out before him, he tips his head back and thinks back to his night with Jared, and the intimacy they’d forged the following morning. 

He knows he’s taken a risk coming back here; what to him had been a life-altering experience could have been a one night stand to Jared. Jared might not want to see him again, might ask him to head back to town or to Dallas, and Jensen’s stomach curdles at the thought. But it had meant more than that to him, had caused him to re-evaluate his life, and while he harbours no illusions about fairy-tale endings and happy ever afters, he knows if he wants to make big changes to his life, he has to start here. 

He hears Jared before he sees him, the thud of his boots almost overpowered by the jauntiness of his whistling. Jensen’s heartbeat picks up and his palms prickle with sweat, but he forces himself to stay calm.

There’s a pause in the walking as Jared spots the truck. “Hello?” he calls, voice uncertain, and it takes Jensen so long to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth that Jared has rounded the corner of the house before he can respond. 

“Jensen!” Jared exclaims, and to Jensen’s relief, he looks happy. He also looks as good as he does in Jensen’s daydreams.

“Jared,” Jensen responds, standing up and almost tripping over his own feet, so concerned with staying upright he can’t manage any further words. 

“What are you doing here?” Jared’s in front of him before Jensen has realises, hands grabbing Jensen’s shoulder and smile beaming from his face. He pulls Jensen in for a huge bear hug before Jensen can respond, and he sinks into it, grateful there’s no rejection.

It’s a long few minutes before Jared lets him go, and Jensen manages to gather his thoughts. 

“How come you’re here?” Jared asks again, and this time Jensen responds. 

“I left Hollywood,” he blurts. “I left my job. I realised how crap it was, how unhappy it made me. And…” This is the hard bit, he realises; all the rest makes sense, but it doesn’t answer the question of why he’s here, sitting on Jared’s back step. “And I wanted to see you again,” he finishes. 

Jared ducks his head, hair falling in front of his eyes, but Jensen can see the flush covering his face, right up to the tip of his ears. “Really?” he mumbles, and Jensen can’t help but laugh, happiness coursing through him.

“Really,” he repeats. “Really, really, really.”

He’s hit by the full blinding force of Jared’s grin, both dimples flaring and his eyes flashing between green and gold. Jared laughs too, joyfully, tossing his head back. “Me too,” he says, and Jensen’s back thumps against the house, Jared looming above him. “Me too.”

_Thank god,_ Jensen thinks before Jared’s mouth finds his, Jared’s huge hands on his hips almost lifting him off the floor. The kiss is scorching and as Jared’s hands move to pull his shirt over his head, Jensen’s thankful he’s made the right choice. He knows this won’t be easy, there’s no guarantees and he needs to find something meaningful to do with his life; but he’s laughed more in these last few moments than he has in the four weeks since he last saw Jared, and that has to mean something.

Jared kisses him again, and he’s unable to think at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [Tumblr](https://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
